


Sum Of His Mercy

by ProneToRelapse



Series: Ad Meliora [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Disabled Character, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Healing, Humor, Needles, Prosthetics, Romance, questionable medical treatment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26214655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: In the wake of the Brotherhood's decimation of Sanctuary, Danse is left badly injured and Nora has an incredibly difficult decision to make. They're going to need the support of everyone they know if they're going to have any chance of standing against Maxson's fanatical tyranny, and the time is long past for Danse to decide whether or not he's going to act against everything he once believed.
Relationships: Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Ad Meliora [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903816
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> totally did not mean for the sequel to take this long to get written, but in my defence, this year did not go the way i expected it, so. yeah.
> 
> the title of the series is "ad meliora" which is latin for "toward better things" which i thought was a nice counterpoint to "toward victory".
> 
> Danse is just... I love him so much. I am also SUPER heavily projecting because sweet guy who loses his whole sense of self because of being excommunicated from the quasi-religious cult he's been in for most of his life? lmao who could ever relate to that haha /sweats
> 
> enjoy!

The space in between awareness and unconsciousness is a strange, shadowy place with no logic or reason tied to its existence. Danse becomes a frequent occupier of that bizarre limbo between the two, but no matter how long he spends there, he still can’t quite comprehend the warped physics that belong to that fragmented realm of dreams and memories. Time doesn’t flow properly here and neither does the barrier of death seem to mean anything to the shadows that lurk on the edges of Danse’s vision. It’s because of that reason that he knows this place isn’t real. Because there’s no way Cutler should be able to stand beside him, silent but smiling, human and breathing. It frightens Danse and, when he gives into the fear, the shadows form the ruins of Sanctuary, broken and burning and Danse wants nothing more than to scream and run and never ever come back to this place again. 

But each time Danse is brought back to consciousness, it’s never his own doing. He has no control over when he wakes or sleeps, no say in what his body does while his mind attempts to regain control over his body’s functions. He’s dragged back into light and sound and pain, but never for longer than a few seconds, only long enough for someone to shine lights into his eyes, to poke and prod him in ways that make his nerves shriek in protest, and then he’s banished back into limbo again and each time the landscape changes. The Capital Wasteland, Rivet City, the Prydwen, Sanctuary, Goodneighbor. It’s always changing and each time he returns, Danse becomes more and more afraid that this will be the last time he’s ever allowed to leave. 

And then something changes. He doesn’t know what it is — can’t really tell while he’s locked inside this shifting world of impossible realities — but something changes and suddenly he can hear things, things that make no sense but help to ground him, reinforce his identity, bring him back into his body and mind in a way that helps to make him feel _real_ again. And he thinks it might be because the voice he hears is so familiar and somewhere deep inside the root of his being, he trusts that voice more than he trusts himself. 

_“Do you remember when we met? You stumbled — literally — into my life. I had no idea then just how important you’d become to me. I think about it a lot. You looked so frightened but at the same time you looked like you didn’t care what happened to you. It made me so sad to see you like that.”_

_“How about the time Hancock got stuck in that cellar for three days? Do you remember? He didn’t even seem to care, he was just relaxing in there and didn’t give a shit. We were all going mad with worry and he was sat there eating cram and huffing jet the entire time. I think that was the first time I ever saw you cry laughing. I’ll never forget it.”_

_“Do you remember when…”_

The voice keeps talking to him and it brings Danse a sense of peace that manages to hold off the fear that he might be going slowly insane. He latches onto it, focuses on nothing but that soft, constant voice that calls upon memories that don’t feel like they belong to him but are in his head all the same. He holds that voice close to his heart, especially when that shadowy realm shifts into bright lights, a clinical white lab, and the map of muscles and skin being grafted onto a body he isn’t allowed to call his own. He holds on and, when the time comes, he follows that voice when it wraps around the root of him, and patiently guides him home. 

Home, though, isn’t a place. And when Danse takes what feels like his first breath in years, that feeling of being guided home fades along with that terrifying state between he’d been afraid he’d never leave. Like breaching the surface of water he breaks through that artificial, forced unconsciousness and breathes, deep and clear and fresh, and then, on his own, Danse manages to open his eyes. 

He doesn’t know where he is and that uncertainty stops him from moving, that and the _pain_ his body is in. Every inch of him hurts, except for his left leg that itches awfully from the knee down, almost like the worst case of pins and needles he’s ever felt in his life. Sheer force of will stops him from digging his nails into the skin there and scratching until the itch fades, but it’s a nearly unbearable urge. Instead he looks around, slowly and without moving his head, and isn’t enlightened any but what he sees. 

It’s a room he’s never seen before, small and packed with terminals and piles of bricks and debris. He’s on the only bed in it, the only one that would fit, and there’s a desk pushed up against the far wall to make room for him. There’s nothing else nearby that could possibly clue him in to where the hell he is and that makes him nervous, agitates him, but there’s nothing he can do about it in the state that he’s currently in. 

Slowly, and it has to be slowly because Danse fears that any sudden movements will light his body up with pain he won’t be able to bear, Danse turns his head to the right. It’s then that the fear just… stops. It leaves his body along with the tension that gives way to heady relief and he knows now that it doesn’t matter where he is. Because beside him, somehow asleep upright and slumped uncomfortably in a rickety chair, is Nora, and the sight of her brings honest to god tears to Danse’s eyes. 

She looks… _exhausted._ There are deep, bruise-like crescents under her eyes, her cheeks look sunken and her hair is knotted and dirty where it hangs in a low, messy ponytail rather than her usual careful bun. She’s in a loose shirt and jeans, arms folded loosely over her chest and head slumped to the side. She’s snoring softly though her expression in sleep is pinched and far from peaceful. 

Danse tries to sit up, carefully so he won’t wake her, but despite his best intentions, he can’t quite stop the pained grunt that he lets out when his arms won’t obey him and his ribs seize painfully when he tries to move. It’s that sound that jerks Nora into wakefulness, eyes unfocused, and to her feet, right hand moving to the handgun holstered at her waist. 

“Nora,” Danse rasps out and her eyes snap abruptly into focus to stare right at him. A beat passes where all she does is look at him and then her eyes fill with tears and she leans forward to cup his face, tears spilling down her cheeks like the sight of him has opened a floodgate. 

“ _Danse_ ,” she chokes out, leaning her forehead against his. “You’re awake, I—“ She inhales shakily, moving back to look at him again like she can’t bear to stop. “It’s so— I’m so happy you’re awake, how are you feeling?”

“Honestly?” Danse swallows, trying to get some more volume to his words but all he gets is the acrid taste of blood at the back of his throat. “Like shit. How long… What happened?”

Nora hesitates. “I’ll… I’ll explain everything, but let me get Carrington first. And some water. You must be so thirsty, you’ve been out for a while.”

Danse hasn’t got a clue who Carrington is, but they must be some sort of medical professional, and also water sounds _amazing_ right now. Danse can’t remember a time when his throat was this dry and sore. He nods his agreement to Nora and she moves away, disappearing through a whole in the wall pretending to be a doorway and reappearing only a few seconds later with a canister and a stern-faced man in a dirty lab coat. 

“Danse, this is Doctor Carrington, he's just going to check you over, okay? But here— Drink this first.” Nora reaches out to help Danse hold his head up without needing to be asked. She holds the canister to Danse’s mouth so he can drink and while a small part of him rankles at having to be assisted like this, it’s quashed by the cool relief the fresh water brings to his ruined throat. 

Once he’s finished, Nora moves away so Carrington can come forward. He moves over Danse’s body with practiced, clinical movements, poking him in different places, feeling him in others, checking his pulse, his reflexes, his responses to different stimuli. It makes his body throb with pain but not too unbearably, and when he’s done he stabs — and it is literally a stab because there is _no_ need for him to stick the hypodermic in that hard — Danse in the arm with a syringe full of Med-X. It takes a moment to take effect but when it does, the absence of pain is a strong and palpable relief. 

Carrington leaves without another word and Danse is about to comment on the man’s lack of bedside manner when Nora perches on the bed on his left side and takes one of his hands in hers. 

“We came really close to losing you,” she says softly, rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand. “Preston and I… We saw the explosion and… God, I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my life. We weren’t too far, but we still didn’t get to you until the worst of the damage was done.”

It takes Danse a few moments for the memories to line up with what she’s saying. He’s quiet until everything falls into place and then he can’t stop the sound of distress that slips past his lips. “The attack— Sanctuary. It… Is there anything left?”

Nora shakes her head. “Gone. All gone. We rounded— Preston rounded up the survivors, got them to safety. You saved a lot of lives, Danse. I stayed with you until you were stable enough to move, but it was a close call. You’d lost so much blood, literally all I could do was slam you with Stimpaks until help came. We brought you here and Carrington worked tirelessly to get you properly stable, but… You were really badly wounded.”

“I don’t remember much…” Danse says quietly. “How many did we lose?”

Nora averts her gaze. She looks… _ashamed,_ of all things. “...Danse, I… I don’t want to tell you that. I don’t want you to know. It’ll only hurt you. Trust me when I say that you saved lives and that, without you, it would have been a massacre.”

Danse isn’t mollified by that answer but he takes it anyway. Nora is right, frustrating as that is, but Danse still wants to know who they lost, who he should mourn for. But again, Nora is right, that knowledge will only hurt him. 

“Where is “here”, anyway?” Danse asks instead of pressing the matter. “What strange secondary location have you absconded with me to?”

Nora cracks a half-smile. “We’re with the Railroad.”

Danse blinks. “ _The_ Railroad? As in, the synth refuge, the Railroad? The underground faction whose location is known only to their own? _That_ Railroad?”

“The very same.” Nora nods. “They call me Whisper.”

Danse stares at her, lethargic brain taking a moment to chug through what that actually means. “You’re a Railroad agent.”

“Yes.”

“You _never_ said—“

“It’s literally in the job description _not to tell people about it._ ”

Danse is trying hard to feel anything other than shocked. Maybe he should be hurt, maybe he should feel insulted that Nora didn’t tell him, but he understands why. And maybe he’s being too understanding, but he can’t really feel angry when it’s thanks to Nora’s covert connections that he’s even still alive. Still, the fact that Nora seems to belong to so many different groups with their own agendas… It’s concerning, to say the least. She seems so intent to offer help to whomever needs it and Danse is worried that if she keeps promising herself to all these people she’s going to eventually get to a point where she no longer belongs to herself. Autonomy is a painful thing to lose. 

“You’re full of surprises,” is all Danse says, instead of all the other things he wants to say. “The… The other settlers. Where are they now?”

“Most are holed up in Bunker Hill,” Nora tells him, cracking open a fresh canister of purified water and helping him to take a few more sips. “Others are bunking down in nearby settlements. Everyone’s on high alert. We have Railroad agents watching the airport for any moves the Brotherhood might make next. It’s… Well, it’s a bit of a shitshow, honestly.”

Danse believes that. Losing Sanctuary… The Brotherhood may not realise it, but purely by chance they managed to strike a crippling blow against the Minutemen by attacking it. A sharp stab of grief makes Danse’s breath catch when he thinks of all they lost. Following the grief, though, is the throb of rage that the loss of Sanctuary brings him. Before Maxson, the Brotherhood would never have bothered a small settlement over the loss of a single patrol. It’s fanaticism like Maxson’s that’s brought this chapter of the Brotherhood nearly to ruin. It surprises Danse, the heat of his anger towards the Elder he had once so respected. He thinks perhaps if he were to face Maxson now, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill him for what he ordered done to Sanctuary. That thought shocks Danse more than it appalls him. 

He’s never been able to abide tyranny. And that’s what Arthur has become. A tyrant. 

“Danse?” Nora’s voice brings him back from his dark thoughts, the soft warmth of her palms against his cheeks helping to ground him. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere good,” he says flatly. “Just… overthinking.” He sighs, nuzzling his face into Nora’s touch. “What do we do now?”

Nora makes a tired sound, shoulders slumping. “I honestly don’t know. Preston and I have talked about it a little, but… I think for now, we’re trying to focus on getting the settlers someplace safe for the long term. We toyed with Starlight Drive-in but it’s too close to Sanctuary. There are Brotherhood Knights posted around the ruins, too. They’re on watch for any Minutemen they can find. We’ve had to go to ground.”

It’s worse than Danse expected. He’d hoped this would be the end of it, that the decimation of Sanctuary would be the stopping point and that the Brotherhood would be satisfied with their retaliation. But if he’s being honest with himself, Danse knows there’s probably more to the Brotherhood’s relentlessness than just reactionary measures taken against a settlement that wouldn’t submit to their demands. No, Danse is fairly certain that Maxson has gotten wind of his whereabouts and has redoubled his efforts to find him and put him down. 

A wave of guilt washes through him, so heavy it momentarily chokes him. Thankfully Nora doesn’t seem to notice his disquiet, still preoccupied by her own thoughts. He takes the momentary reprieve of her distraction to compose himself, to wipe the evidence of distress off his face. He’s always been too expressive for his own good. 

“We’ll figure something out,” Nora says at last, smiling though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ve come through worse, we’ll come through this, too. When you’re better, we’ll talk more, okay? For now your only goal is to rest and heal, okay?”

Danse nods absently. He’s still thinking about Maxson and his fanaticism. There’s nothing more dangerous than zealotry, he knows that more keenly than he ever had when he himself had been under the influence of the Brotherhood’s ideals. What had once been righteous and just has been corrupted under Maxson’s tyrannical leadership. The whole situation leaves a bitter taste in Danse‘s mouth. 

“Danse?” Nora‘s soft voice breaks into his reverie once more. She sounds… almost afraid. “There’s… one more thing you need to know.”

Danse looks at her, frowning. “What? Are you alright?”

Nora shakes her head at him fondly. “Don’t worry about me, Danse, _I’m_ fine. Mostly. I’m… There’s something you need to know and it’s going to be a bit of a shock, but just remember that we’ll get through it together, okay?”

Danse’s frown deepens. “It makes me nervous when you get vague, you know that.”

“Sorry…” Nora inhales deeply, seeming to steel herself. “When we found you, the power armour you were wearing was pretty much destroyed. We had to prise you out of it before Carrington could get a proper look at you. You’d lost a lot of blood and… I’m really sorry, Danse, but there’s… We couldn’t save all of you.”

Danse blinks. “ _‘All’_ of me? The hell does that mean?”

Nora lifts her hand slowly and places it down on the bed. More precisely, she puts it down on the rough blanket where it’s bunched up over Danse's legs. Her palm rests on Danse’s left thigh, then trails slowly down. When she gets to the space above his knee, she pushes down and the blanket dips below her hand. Danse frowns, looking down at her hand, uncomprehending. 

Then his lungs seize with panic and he wrenches the blankets back violently.

His right leg is fine. The clothes he’s wearing are too large, baggy on a frame left weakened by his reluctant convalescence, but that’s not the problem. His right leg is fine. But his left… From an inch above where his knee had once been, Danse’s left leg is gone. 

Amputated.

“I,” Danse says, reaching down to feel the space for himself. His hands shake but he forces himself to touch the bandages wrapped around the… He doesn’t even know what to call it. Injury? Wound? Fucking _absence_ of leg? The bandages are clean which means the wound has healed, but when he touches it Danse can feel nothing so the area is likely little more than scar tissue now. Cauterised, probably.

“I’m sorry, Danse,” Nora says. 

“...Yeah,” Danse says numbly, because he has no idea what else to say. More than that, he has no idea how he's going to come back from this. In one decisive move, the Brotherhood have taken Danse's home, his friends... and this. And he has no idea how the hell he's supposed to feel about it.


	2. Chapter 2

Whoever the hell this Doctor Carrington is, he apparently has a vendetta against Danse just for existing, if his atrocious bedside manner is any indication. Nora doesn’t seem to think there’s a problem, and maybe she’s just grateful to the man for saving Danse’s life, but Danse is used to medical professionals being a little less _intemperate,_ to put it mildly, so whenever Carrington comes in to prick and poke at him, Danse can’t help but flinch back a little from the heat of his glare or the force of his “tests”.

Thankfully Nora never strays far from his side, so Danse doesn’t have to weather the medical malpractice alone, but he does feel a little guilty for monopolising her time. Surely there must be other, more important matters that the General of the Minutemen needs to see to, not to mention whatever tasks the Railroad might have for one of their agents, but if that’s the case Nora makes no indication that there’s anywhere else she needs to be.

She’s right by his side the first time he takes a step with the crutches, a hand at his shoulder, ready to catch him when he inevitably stumbles. His arms are too weak from his forced period of unconsciousness, so it goes about as badly as it possibly could have, and Nora has to catch him several times before his arms stop shaking enough so that he can support himself for a few minutes at a time, though each attempt leaves him sweaty and exhausted.

But what Nora doesn’t say, and what Danse cannot bring himself to mention, is that he is no use to her like this. How is he supposed to stand beside the General when he cannot even stand on his own without crutches? How is he meant to support her when he can’t support himself? He can’t stand, he can’t fight, he can’t do _anything._

Even the progress he does make is hampered by pain. It’s a full two weeks before he can stand without her intervention, and even then he can only manage two lengths of the sick bay without panting for breath.

“It’s okay,” Nora tells him every time he sags back onto the bed, breathless and angry.

“These things take time,” she says, mopping sweat from his brow and the frustrated tears from his cheeks that neither of them mention.

The decision to relocate comes long before Danse feels ready to, but he’s more aware than Nora gives him credit for that his presence in the Railroad Headquarters is causing some unrest. He doesn’t doubt that Carrington has seen the tattoo on his bicep that once identified him as a member of the Brotherhood, and doubts even less that the good Doctor kept quiet about it. When Danse leaves the relatively safe haven of the sick bay, the assembled agents milling around all cast wary glances his way and that should probably bother him more than it does, but Danse is finding it hard to care about anything these days.

Even so, Nora does her absolute best to counteract his despondent mood, and her relentless support and unwavering determination only really serves to make him feel _worse._ Not once does she ever take him to task for his reluctance to walk or to interact or to act like a courteous fucking person, just stands beside him and talks to him, keeps him company whenever she can. 

Danse can’t even find it in him to be grateful for her presence. All he wants is to go _home,_ back to Sanctuary, before all of this, before the fucking Brotherhood intervened and took everything because they believed they had a right to it. Before they took his ability to fucking _walk_ and _fight_ and _feel fucking anything_ aside from anger and frustration and pain.

At Nora’s instance, Danse agrees to come and eat out in the main hub of the Headquarters. Whether that’s because she thinks the company will be good for him or if she wants to show the terrified synths that he’s not a threat, he doesn’t know. He mainly agrees because he feels like the most colossal asshole, though the way Nora beams at him when he struggles into a vacant seat does manage to clear the dark clouds hanging around him somewhat.

He weathers the distrustful glares without so much as a flinch, eats whatever Nora puts in front of him without really tasting it, but the moment he starts eating he physically cannot stop because he is _starving,_ and the all-liquid diet he’s been on for who knows how long is really starting to grate on him. Even if the company is wary, solid food is a godsend so Danse takes that small pleasure as a good point in a sea of crap.

The first person to speak to him other than Nora is Deacon, who Danse would be glad to see under any other circumstance. A familiar, friendly face, though familiar is stretching it a bit because he’s changed his look again and Danse doesn’t actually recognise him until he speaks.

“Glad to see you up and about,” he says, taking a seat opposite him. “Had us all pretty worried about you.”

“Thank you,” Danse mumbles, falling back on courtesy when he can’t think of anything to say. It probably wouldn’t be good form to mention how he’d have preferred not to wake up at all, and saying that might upset Nora, which is unthinkable, no matter how shit Danse might be feeling on the inside. He couldn’t bear it if his inwardly dour thoughts came out and caused her any kind of hurt. She’s his only anchor to sanity right now, when everything else seems to be falling apart.

“Sorry about all the looks,” Deacon adds, wincing sympathetically. “We run a business of distrust, so you can’t really blame them for being cautious.”

“Makes no difference to me.” Danse shrugs. “Like you said, I can’t really blame them.” He could, if he weren’t so preoccupied by how miserable he feels. Their distrust is frustrating, sure, but it’s not like he has to interact with any of them. But it _is_ a bit strange that they should be so quietly hostile. After all, isn’t Danse one of the people they so zealously try to help?

It occurs to him, then, that they may know from his tattoo that he’s ex-Brotherhood. But Nora hasn’t told them that he’s a synth.

Suddenly things make a lot more sense.

“So, when’re you moving out?” Deacon says, directing this to Nora when it becomes apparent Danse won’t be easily drawn into conversation. Danse keeps listening, though, because he’s hoping that when Nora leaves, she’ll take him with her. Even if he has to argue his case, he refuses to be left behind if she goes. He’s hoping that even in his current condition, she won’t just leave him behind like dead weight. Even if that’s what he is now.

“Couple weeks?” Nora says, looking thoughtful. “Preston says the patrols are easing off a bit north of the river so he’s got the majority of our people moving out of Bunker Hill. I’m hoping we’ll be able to make it straight to the Castle while the Brotherhood pull back to regroup. It’s going to take some time, but we’ve got the start of a plan that I’m pretty confident on.”

“Plan?” Danse asks before he can stop himself. Nora looks over, delighted by his unexpected input. He flushes and looks away. 

“We’re trying to regroup at the Castle,” Nora explains. “It’s the Minutemen base of operations. We’re…” She hesitates. “We’re going to take on the Brotherhood.”

Danse laughs. He doesn’t mean to but he just can’t help himself. Deacon winces at the sound, rightly so, because it’s a bitter, mocking laugh that Danse hates but cannot stop. “You’re smarter than that, Nora, you can’t “take on” the Brotherhood. Was Sanctuary not enough of an example? Try anything and they’ll slaughter anyone you pit against them. They outnumber all of us in terms of numbers _and_ firepower, both on land and in the air.”

“I know,” Nora says. “Which is why we’re still in the _planning_ stage. Deacon here has a few ideas.”

“Oh?” Danse looks over at the man in question. “You hiding a gunship in your pockets or something?”

“No, I’m just happy to see you--” Deacon grunts and jerks in his seat and Danse highly suspects Nora just kicked him under the table. “Jesus. Okay, yeah. I got some plans. Dez isn’t too keen but I figure I can talk her round.” He glances at Nora. “You understand I gotta keep some things under wraps for now?”

“It’s fine,” Nora waves him off. “We’ve got some things to take care of first anyway. We’re not doing anything until Danse is fully healed.”

Danse raises his eyebrows. “Not that I don’t appreciate the allowance, but you know I can’t just regrow a leg, right? You’re not planning on dosing me with radiation in the hopes I mutate a new limb, are you?”

Nora elbows him. “Pack it in. Obviously not. Just concentrate on getting better. Like I said, we’re not doing anything until you’re healed. I want your full input on this.”

That, more than anything, more than her support and her patience and her constant presence by his side, is what finally triggers something in Danse’s head towards the first glimmer of hope that he’s felt since he woke up. The fact that Nora doesn’t consider him dead weight, that she still values his input, still wants him _beside_ her, after everything. It helps more than anything else possibly could.

“Alright,” Danse says, nodding. “I’m with you.” Nora beams and leans over to kiss his cheek.

“Aww, gross,” Deacon says, then grunts when Nora kicks him again.

* * *

Their destination, as Nora had said, is the Castle and though the journey is going to be a long one, there’s not a settlement between Railroad HQ and there that they can stop at, so she wants to be sure Danse can make the journey before they set out.

As frustrating as that is, that means that Danse has to double down on his efforts at learning how to maneuver quickly on his crutches for extended periods of time, and though his arms are left sore and shaking at the end of each day, he is secretly pleased when he can remain upright for longer each time he attempts it.

Danse eventually figures out, through absent listening and unintended context clues, that the Railroad HQ is beneath the Old North Church, and the reaction that elicits is not a pleasant one. Their current proximity to Boston Airport and the Brotherhood settles heavy in his stomach like fear, but he doesn’t have the energy required to do anything about that other than agonise silently. There’s nothing he could do anyway, if the Brotherhood attacked. He can’t maneuver on his crutches and wield a firearm at the same time, so there’s no point even wasting the energy worrying about that eventuality.

It feels like he’s living on borrowed time, now. That at any moment his luck will finally run out. The thought should probably be terrifying, but Danse just accepts it as a given. There’s not much else the Brotherhood can take from him now.

Though Danse is making, by his own admission, quite steady progress with regards to his mobility on the crutches, Danse is still actively trying not to think about what this means for the future. Nora doesn’t mention it, so Danse has no idea what her opinion on the subject might be, but the fact that he’s terrified of her answer means that Danse will not broach the matter himself, even if it might put an end to his concerns. He could ask and stop needlessly agonising over it, but the idea that Nora might admit that he’s no longer able to join her out in the field is what keeps him quiet.

Better to suffer in silence than to risk having his fears confirmed.

Carrington bothers him less and less as the days pass, though when he does come to butcher Danse in the name of treatment, he’s no less violent with his tools. Danse is prepared to weather all of this silently, but for the sake of an easy life he eventually sighs and holds up a hand to stop Carrington before he gets close enough to stab him again.

“I’m a synth,” Danse says pointedly. “If you’re concerned about me ratting your little operation out to the Brotherhood, then please let that offer some comfort about where my loyalties lie. They destroyed my home, too, you know. Sanctuary was important to me. I’m not going to shift sides when it’s _because_ of me that they attacked us.”

Carrington says nothing in response to that and for a moment Danse wonders if he misread the entire situation and that Carrington is just naturally heavy handed with his torture-- _medical_ devices. But when he steps forward to take a blood sample he is considerably more gentle this time around so Danse knows he was right in his earlier assumption that Carrington didn’t trust him. He’s not sure if Carrington trusts anyone, but at least now Danse isn’t in danger of losing another limb. Or being smothered in his sleep.

What causes considerable alarm, however, isn’t the vaguely homicidal doctors or the distrustful Railroad operatives or the weirdly prescient assaultron that keeps calling Danse an “unknown variable”, but the slightly manic-looking man with a strange hat who loiters in the doorway whenever Danse is trying to do his prescribed exercises.

“Can I help you?” Danse finally asks, sick of being watched, and folds his arms defensively. 

“It’s cool,” the man says, scribbling something on a clipboard. “Just observing, man, don’t worry about it. Do you know your inseam?”

“My what?” Danse asks, bewildered. “How is that relevant?”

“Hey, man, it’s all relative in science. If you don’t know, it’s fine, just lemme measure, won’t take two seconds.”

“Absolutely not,” Danse says, mildly terrified. “And I said _relevant,_ not _relative._ Who even are you?”

“Oh, the name’s Tinker Tom,” the man beams. “Resident Railroad quartermaster. You need anything, you come to _me.”_

“...Noted.” Danse gives him a slow once-over. “Why do you need to know my inseam?”

“Details,” Tinker Tom says, waving his clipboard dismissively. All that’s on the paper, from what Danse can see, is a crude drawing of a blobby figure with its right leg missing. Danse is pretty sure it’s meant to be a drawing of him, but he’s missing his _left_ leg so that seems to be a rather egregious oversight. It doesn’t fill him with confidence.

“Right,” Danse says, moving on from mildly terrified to _highly_ terrified. “I, um, I’m not sure on the inseam, I’m afraid. Right leg might be around thirty-five, but the left… Well, that’s considerably shorter, these days.”

“... _Left,_ ” Tom says, wide-eyed, scribbling frantically on the clipboard. “Right, left, of _course_ . Thanks, man, that’s a big help.” He gives Danse an appreciative nod and disappears through the whole in the wall and Danse is left feeling like he’s given out information that is absolutely going to be used against him. How, he has absolutely now idea, and _that_ is what scares him the most.

Now that Danse can move around quickly and confidently on his crutches, Nora deems it an acceptable time for them to leave the safety or the Railroad behind. Danse is eager to leave, honestly, sick as he is of being watched so warily, but when several agents group up to form an escort for them, his delicately optimistic mood shatters like glass. Unfortunately, Deacon isn’t one of their assigned guard, so there’s going to be nothing to offset the awkwardness while they travel, but Danse doesn’t protest when the group of agents assembles around him and Nora as they prepare to leave, doesn’t outwardly express his distaste for the fact that they need a protection detail where before he and Nora could have handled anything the wasteland threw at them as long as they were together. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to, because Nora already knows and can see his thoughts plainly written across his face, but for once she doesn’t have any reassuring words for him. He appreciates her silence on the matter more than he’d appreciate any empty platitudes.

It goes against every instinct in Danse’s blood to be venturing out into the wasteland without a pack or his rifle, and come to think of it, Danse doesn’t even know what became of his trust old rifle after the siege on Sanctuary. He knows precious little about the whole incident, other than that they lost pretty much everything to the Brotherhood’s battle lust. Though Nora has spent pretty much every day by Danse’s side, they’ve yet to talk about anything real. Every time Danse tries, she carefully shifts the conversation away, and Danse doesn’t know if that’s because she’s still hurting from the loss, or if it’s something else.

In addition to the armour, Danse is given a handgun with an underarm holster that helps give him a more concrete sense of security. He won’t be completely helpless if something befalls them on their journey, at least, even if he doesn’t have the mobility he’s used to. He’s grateful for that small piece of insurance that if something does go wrong, he’s not going to be completely useless. With that, he feels a little better about the whole situation.

He sees Tinker Tom pass something to Nora just before they leave, and under Desdemona’s disapproving gaze, Nora takes the tarp-covered object with what seems to be a disproportionate amount of gratitude. It’s long, just under three feet, but it looks light enough judging by the way Nora easily hitches it into her arms. She offers no explanation for it and Danse doesn’t care enough to ask, and then they’re on their way and Danse is not in the least bit sad to leave the distrust of the Railroad behind.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time the Castle comes into view, Danse is in a great deal of pain, exhausted, and developing some serious blisters on the palms of his hands. He’s never been more relieved to see anything in his life as he is to see the towering walls of the Castle, even if one of them looks more like a pile of rubble than any kind of defensible partition. It bears similar marks to other settlements Nora has had a hand in building, in that the weaker parts of its structure have been heavily built on and kitted out with turrets and fenceposts, and the sight of it eases the knot of anxiety in Danse’s chest that the looming presence of the Prydwen in the distance is causing.

They’re greeted at the gate by several familiar faces, and for a moment Danse forgets all about his pain and his melancholy because here is Preston and Sturges and Mama Murphy, all safe and alive and he is  _ so  _ glad to see them that he can’t stop the wide smile of relief that stretches across his face.

“Real glad to see you, General,” Preston says, clasping Nora’s arm. He turns to Danse and claps him on the shoulder, beaming widely. “Should’ve known nothing could keep you down. I wanted to come see you, but we’ve been working round the clock to get everyone settled after… everything went down. Can’t even tell you how glad I am to see you again, hero.”

Danse splutters at that, caught horrifically off guard by the strange honorific. “Hero? Since when?”

Preston shakes his head. “Come on, there’s time for that. You look dead on your… You look about ready to pass out. We can talk inside.”

The Castle is positively crawling with people, more so than even the sizeable settlement could possibly hold, and though Danse is concerned by the sheer number of people here, he is more relieved than he can say when he spots several faces he recognises from Sanctuary. There’s Carl and Darla, his old watch crew, and Darla shrieks when she sees him, throwing her arms around him in an awkward hug that he can’t quite return without toppling them both to the ground. Still, he’s grateful for the exuberant greeting, more grateful that everyone seems okay, and though there are a few tentative glances towards his crutches, no one mentions it or offers him overbearing assistance which he appreciates.

Preston leads them through the halls of the Castle to a large room in one of the structure’s corner bastions that resembles a rudimentary mess hall. Preston hauls out a chair for Danse who falls into it gratefully, stowing his crutches underneath. Nora takes her place at the head as expected, and Preston sits on her other side opposite Danse. Sturges and Mama Murphy sit down too, and the moment she’s sat, Mama Murphy starts fussing over Danse like, well, like a mama hen, which is amusing, and not entirely unwelcome.

“Poor thing,” she tells him, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “We were all so  _ worried.” _

“I’m okay,” Danse assures her, patting her hand gently. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Well, that’s a load of bullshit if I ever heard it,” Mama Murphy says, prompting a childish snicker from Sturges and a startled laugh from Danse who has  _ never  _ heard the woman swear before. “But you’re here and that’s what matters, and so are we who wouldn’t be if it weren’t for you.”

“She’s right,” Sturges agrees easily, even as Danse’s cheeks redden. “Hell, I ain’t never seen anythin’ like it. Took on a damn battalion of Brotherhood Paladins almost single-handedly. Pretty much all of us here wouldn’t be standin’ if not for you.”

“I, um,” Danse says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m just glad you’re all okay.”

Danse might not be a soldier anymore, but he’s never going to be a civilian. Even though his time with the Brotherhood is long since over, the training is no longer just past of his body, it’s part of his mind, too. And that training is never going to allow him to stand idly by while civilians are in danger. Even if he hadn’t been one of Sanctury’s own, even if it hadn’t been his home, there’s no way Danse couldn’t have acted in its defence, for the people he cares about because Nora taught him how. His beliefs might have changed, but that drive to protect will always be part of him. And it’s that drive that the Brotherhood have forgotten. In his fanaticism, Maxson has forgotten that they must strive to protect those who can’t protect themselves.

Thankfully Nora moves them on from talk of Danse’s so-called heroics, because his cheeks can only get so red before his head explodes. She calls their ragtag bunch to order with a light slap of her palm to the tabletop, and all eyes in the room move to her.

“I know things have been difficult,” she says, looking round at them. “And I know we’re all hurting from the loss at Sanctuary, but we have a plan now. The Railroad have agreed to work with us in taking on the Brotherhood. It’s not going to be easy, not by any stretch, but we have a plan in the works that’s going to give us an advantage. That’s all I can say for the moment, but please rest assured that we’re not going to take the destruction of Sanctuary lying down. We  _ will  _ retaliate, because if left unchecked the Brotherhood are a danger to all of us.”

There’s still a part of Danse that rankles to hear any of this, though he doesn’t question the truth of it. The Brotherhood, under Maxson’s rule, has become a danger to the Commonwealth and her people. Though Danse would love to protest that they can reach a peaceful accord, he knows that isn’t true. Because Maxson’s beliefs have permeated the hearts of every soldier under him, and that their creed of hatred for anything inhuman cannot be allowed to continue unchallenged. Danse knows this because until he met Nora, he held the same beliefs. But now he’s prepared to lay down his life - nearly has and though it cost him dearly he knows he would do it again - for ghouls and synths alike.

“You’re going to need inside knowledge,” Danse says to a murmur of agreement. “It’s a good thing you’ve got me.”

“You have no idea how true that is,” Nora says, grinning widely. “For now I want all of you to continue on as before. Preston is going to coordinate the patrols. Ronnie is… Well, she’s going to do her thing and I’m sure she’ll let us all know her opinion once she’s back. Sturges, you’re with me, I have a project I need your input on.”

Sturges cracks his knuckles. “On it, boss.”

“Good.” Nora nods. “Dismissed.”

The dismissal doesn’t really do anything except clear the formal air of the gathering so that they can start freely talking amongst themselves. A few other settlers and Minutemen come to greet Danse and express their happiness to see him alive and well. From what he can gather, none of them have any idea that Nora enlisted the Railroad’s help in getting Danse stable, except maybe Preston, but then again he is her right hand man. Regardless, Danse knows enough about the Railroad to wisely keep quite on where it was he was holed up while he healed, so he just mentions that he was “with friends” when anyone asks.

Though Danse is glad to be among so many familiar faces and away from the distrustful gazes of the Railroad, by contrast Nora seems to be in a heightened state of unease. Danse isn’t sure why, but she keeps glancing around nervously like she’s waiting on something to jump out from the shadows to attack, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to ask until much later.

By the time evening rolls around, Danse feels happier than he has in weeks, and when Nora shows them to her quarters - practically decadent compared to the Railroad’s dusty, rubble-laden, hole-in-the-wall medbay - he sits on the bed and tugs her close by the hand, leaning up to kiss her softly.

“I didn’t say,” he murmurs, brushing hair back from her face. “Thank you, for saving my life. I’m sorry I’ve been…”

“It’s okay.” She presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “I can’t even imagine how much this must be to deal with.” She kneels down in front of him, trailing a gentle hand over his left thigh. “And I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I have…  _ so  _ much on my mind.”

“I know.” Danse leans their foreheads together. He’d forgotten how nice it is just to be near her. “You’re under so much stress, I don’t want to add to any of it. But no matter what happens, I’m with you, please know that. Don’t think I harbour any loyalty to the Brotherhood. After Sanctuary… There’s no way to forgive them for that. They were just civilians.”

Nora pulls away. “No, they weren’t.” She looks away for a moment before sighing. “I… The reason Preston and I left before? Do you remember?”

Danse nods. “You were taking people to other settlements.”

“We were taking  _ civilians  _ to other settlements,” Nora corrects. “Farmers, laborours, children, families. Did you not notice that the only ones left behind were Minutemen and fighters?”

It honestly hadn’t occurred to him. “You said you were resettling them because Sanctuary was getting overcrowded. I had no reason not to believe you.”

“I know,” Nora says quietly. She still won’t look him in the eye. “After the altercation with the Brotherhood before, I had a feeling that they would retaliate. Preston agreed so we… We worked on getting the main bulk of civilians out. Those who stayed behind… Would be able to fight. I left… I left you behind because I knew you could defend them. And you nearly died, because of me.”

“Oh,” Danse says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. Nora bows her head, hands in her lap, and Danse watches a few tears fall from behind the curtain of auburn hair obscuring her face. He can tell from the tense line of her shoulders that she’s waiting for anger, for hurt, but Danse doesn’t feel any of it.

“Nora,” he says gently, reaching out to tilt her head up with a finger under her chin. “You’re not military.”

Her brow pinches in confusion. “What?”

Danse sighs and brushes her hair behind her ears. “You’re not military. You haven’t had any kind of-- of military training. Everything you’ve learned, you’ve learned after leaving the vault, after being thrown into a world you don’t recognise. Every decision you’ve made has come from the need to survive and the want to protect. And in spite of that, you’re the head of the Minutemen, because the people beneath you respect you enough to follow your orders, myself included.”

“I… suppose?” Nora wrings her hands nervously. “But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Sometimes, as a leader, you have to make difficult decisions,” Danse explains, smiling faintly. “Sometimes you have to make an impossible choice, or make a call that could cost the life of your people. You made a difficult choice and you’ll have to bear those consequences, no matter what your intentions were. I’m not mad at you for making that call. I’d’ve done the same. The only thing I’d wish you’d done was tell me. But I understand why you didn’t.”

Nora looks up at him. “You really believe that? You’re not angry?”

“No,” Danse promises and means it. “I’m not angry. I’m alive. And I might not be…  _ whole,  _ but I’m here, with you. And there’s nowhere else I want to be.”

Nora lets out a breath and leans up on her knees to kiss him, cupping his face and surprising him with the fervour of her kiss. When she pulls away they’re both breathless and she’s half in his lap, though mindful not to put too much weight on his left thigh. “I love you,” she tells him firmly, kissing his cheeks. “I love you and I’m so sorry I left you behind. It was only because I trusted you to keep everyone safe but I won’t make the mistake of leaving you behind again. You belong by my side. Nowhere else.”

As warmed as he is by her sentiment, Danse knows that’s all it is. Sentiment. And that sentiment does not take into account his…  _ condition.  _ “I want to be by your side,” he tells her, lifting her hand to his lips so he can press a kiss to her knuckles. “But I’m afraid I won’t… be much use to you.”

Nora shakes her head. “Don’t. No matter what, you belong at my side. All I ask is that you trust me. I told you I won’t leave you behind. There were… before the war, there were people with disabilities like yours, some less severe, some worse. It won’t hinder you, Danse, I promise you that. Allowances will need to be made, but we can do that. Just trust me, okay? That’s all I’m asking.”

“Of course I do,” Danse vows. “Of _course_ I do.”

Nora smiles and wraps her arms around him tightly. And though Danse is replete to be in her arms again, he cannot help noticing that the tension does not quite leave her shoulders. There’s something else on her mind that she isn’t telling him now, but he has no desire to pull it out of her before she’s ready.

All he has to do is trust her. That’s the easiest thing in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

More than being surrounded by friends and familiar faces, Danse is overwhelmingly thankful to be busy again. He can’t help much with the farming on the Castle’s little fenced-in plot, but there’s a crafting station set up in the fortress’ old armory kitted out with everything he could possibly need to keep himself busy and feeling useful. The best part is, once he’s situated in there, people come to him for repairs and he’s happy to take on the work, feeling more content than he has since he woke up. He spends most of the days of his recuperation crafting and modifying the same way he did back in Sanctuary, though for the most part he’s alone because Nora has been ignoring her duties for him for too long, but she stops in to see him when she can.

The most uncomfortable part, though, is that there are a few salvaged suits of power armor lying to one side, and Danse knows the moment he sees it that the dented and charred suit in a worse state than the rest, is the one he wore in defence of Sanctuary. Morbidly, he cannot stop himself from inspecting the damage, and he realises for the first time just how lucky he is to be alive. The suit is beyond repair at this point, and serves no more purpose than to be completely stripped for re-purposable parts, which is uncomfortably close to how Danse feels on the inside.

He can’t be of the same kind of use that he was before, he needs to be repurposed, just like this suit of power armor. The thought stings so he throws a tarp over the suit and tries not to think about it again.

More often than not Sturges is the one joining him in the armoury, working on something in the corner from dawn until dusk, until he’s called away to help fix whatever part of the Castle is falling apart this time. Though Danse has asked multiple times, Sturges never lets him see what he’s working on, and though he’s desperately curious, Danse never sneaks a peek whenever Sturges is gone, because Danse isn’t underhanded like that, but the urge is there.

Trying to keep optimistic, Danse sets himself little goals while he works and is pleased when he meets them. The biggest one, his most private one, is that he’s trying to work on doing away with one of his crutches. He has the time to practice, and now he’s built up callouses on his palms, he can go for longer and put more weight on his left arm, so each day he tucks his other crutch away and spends an hour or so navigating the armoury with the one crutch. It’s slow going but he  _ is  _ making progress, and before long he can get around relatively well with the one crutch, freeing up his right hand for other things.

It’s not the best situation, but it’s something, and Danse takes comfort in his small victory.

Danse has settled in quite quickly to the Castle, but Nora seems to be getting more tense with every passing day. Whenever Danse catches a glimpse of her, she’s moving almost frantically, hardly pausing for breath, and each night Danse is usually fast asleep before she even considers settling down for the night. He chalks it up to the stress of their impending retaliation against the Brotherhood, but she’s mentioned no more on the subject so Danse can’t be sure if that’s really what’s causing her such distress. He nearly asks so many times but it never seems like the right time, nor can he ever pin her down for longer than about five minutes, and the last thing he wants to do is add to her stress, so he lets this go on for longer than he feels comfortable with.

He doesn’t get another opportunity to ask her what’s going on, either, because she comes to him a two weeks after they arrived, pack hoisted on one shoulder. He looks at her for a long moment, then at the pack and the rifle on her hip, and nods.

“Be safe,” is all he tells her when she bends to kiss him goodbye. It was inevitable but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. “Who’s watching your back?”

“Preston’s coming with me to Diamond City,” she says, stroking his cheek. “Then I’m meeting Nick.”

Danse, nods, comforted by that. She couldn’t be in better hands. “Any specific destination in mind, or are you just on a scavenging run?”

“Bit of both,” Nora says. “Recon, but there’s a couple of things Sturges needs. Any requests while I’m gone?”

“Just come back safe, that’s all I want,” Danse says. “And maybe some more tools. Sturges keeps stealing my wrench and we’ve only got the one between us.”

“Got it,” Nora says, grinning. “How’s he getting on?”

“No idea,” Danse says, frowning. “He won’t let me see. Do  _ you  _ have any idea what he’s working on?”

“I might,” Nora says with a wink. “But you’ll have to wait and see. Be good while I’m gone, and don’t let Mama Murphy into the chem stash.”

Danse bids her farewell and doesn’t watch as she leaves, instead throwing himself into the repair of the filter from the west bastion’s water pump to keep his mind occupied. It helps for a few days, but after that the work becomes rote enough that his thoughts are free to wander and he frets himself silly over Nora’s wellbeing. It lessens a little when Preston comes back and the first thing he does is come to see Danse and tell him he saw Nora to Diamond City safely, but after that there’s nothing to do but wait until she returns.

Preston is happy enough for Danse to take up the nightly watch on rota with Carl and Darla again, which is just the return to normalcy that Danse has been seeking. They welcome him heartily and Darla produces her pack of cards with a wink and Danse settles himself happily down to lose some caps. The watches are uneventful, even with the presence of the Prydwen a foreboding reminder of their ultimate goal, but for the most part Danse is able to put it out of his mind, buoyed by work and good company.

His routine is broken up, though, by the arrival of a very loud, very gruff, very remarkable woman who identifies herself as Ronnie Shaw, veteran commander of the original Minutemen. She’s coarse and outspoken and Danse warms to her  _ immediately,  _ though she gives him a rather unkind once over, staring at his injured leg with a deep frown.

“So you’re the one the General was all cut up about,” she says, sniffing. “Always the way. Seen my fair share of decent commanding officers bent outta shape over a pretty face. Glad to see you’re still kicking then, though a casualty might’ve lit an impressive fire in her. We’re gonna need it if we’re gonna knock that ugly metal bird outta the sky.”

“I’m not too keen on being martyred for the cause,” Danse says mildly. “But I think I appreciate the sentiment, Commander Shaw.” He’s also a bit shocked at being referred to as a “pretty face” when he’s got his own considerable military experience at his back. 

“Hmph,” Shaw grumbles and leaves him to his work. Danse shakes his head with a perplexed smile and is about to return to his work when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. 

He glances over to see a young boy peering round the wall of the armoury entrance, half-obscured by the doorway. He’s watching Danse with wide eyes, but retreats back round the wall the moment he realises he’s been seen, disappearing in a stripy blur of unruly red hair.

“It’s okay,” Danse calls out softly. “You can come see if you like. I promise I won’t bite.”

The boy slowly edges round the wall until he’s standing in the doorway. Danse is incredibly out of practice with kids, but all the kids he has interacted with seem grateful when you treat them like adults, so Danse has always endeavoured to do that, just a bit softly than he would normally treat another. He pastes a friendly smile on his face, waving, and the boy slowly edges closer.

“I’m Danse,” he tells the boy. “Resident… Engineer-slash-mechanic, I suppose. I’m not really sure  _ what  _ it is I do around here.” He grins, spinning is wrench around his fingers with a flourish. A smile smile flits across the boy’s face. He’s young, maybe about ten or eleven, though Danse isn’t very good at gauging ages. The closer he gets the better Danse can make out his features; slender nose, reddish hair, grey eyes, tanned skin slightly lighter than Nora’s own. He looks strangely familiar, though Danse cannot ever recall seeing him before.

“I’m Shaun,” the boy says, close enough now so that he can lean forward to see what Danse is working on. Danse isn’t entirely sure if he should be working on a gun modification around a child, but it’s not like he’s going to let the kid  _ use  _ it, so as long as he doesn’t leave it unattended it should be fine.

“Nice to meet you, Shaun,” Danse says. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I was at a different settlement,” Shaun explains, shifting from foot to foot. “Aunt Ronnie came to get me because it wasn’t safe there anymore.”

“Well, you’ll be very safe here,” Danse says, smiling kindly. “The Minutemen will look after you. Commander Shaw’s your aunt, you said?”

“Not really,” Shaun says, picking up the gun’s trigger pin and turning it over in his fingers. “I just call her that. I don’t think she likes it, but it makes uncle Preston laugh so I keep doing it.”

“I think she must like it a little bit if she lets you get away with it,” Danse says, pitching his voice low into a conspiratorial whisper. “I think she’s secretly quite sweet.”

Shaun grins. “I do, too.”

Danse sets his wrench down, wiping the oil off his hands with a rag. Judging by his familial terms for the Minutemen, it’s highly likely the poor kid is an orphan, which is unfortunately common in the wasteland, as upsetting as it is. Danse’s heart goes out to him, and he vows to himself to teach the kid some simple mechanics to keep him busy, because Danse can vouch for the healing power of having something to do with your hands.

“You look like a strong lad,” Danse says after a moment. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have a bit of trouble getting around these days. I don’t suppose you’d want to be my assistant for the day? Help me with some repairs?”

“I’d like that, sir!” Shaun says at once, eyes practically sparkling. “I really like making things, Uncle Sturges sometimes lets me help when he fixes the generators!”

“Outstanding,” Danse says with a smile. “Then you can give me a hand with these filters. And you don’t have to call me sir, just Danse is fine.”

“Okay, Mr Danse!” Shaun says, which pulls a laugh out of him. Good enough.

* * *

It’s strange in a good way to have such an earnest assistant, and once he’s comfortable around him, Shaun talks a mile a minute about everything and anything that catches his interest. He’s an intelligent kid with a real talent for mechanics, so Danse oversees him repairing a few of the damaged limbs from one of the suits of power armor while he mods a couple of rifles for some of the Minutemen. Even Ronnie drops by to ask if Danse can improve the specs of her musket, so he knows she’s warmed to him at least a little.

Danse also sees that she’s inordinately fond of Shaun, because she tries to hide a smile every time he calls her Aunt Ronnie. It seems like a lot of the Minutemen are fond of the kid, though Danse also sees a great deal of unease there which is probably born from the fact they knew the kid’s parents. Danse doesn’t ask what happened to them, considers it impolite, but he does keep a watchful eye on the kid anyway, though there’s probably no safer place he could be.

Weirder still, Shaun occasionally comes out with things that make little to no sense. He talks freely about what he’s interested in, but nothing about his younger childhood ever seems to come out. That’s the only subject he ever seems to think about before he speaks, where everything else just flows freely. It’s a good few days in his company before Shaun says something that gives Danse pause.

“I never really got to do much at the lab,” Shaun says, grunting as he tightens a screw on a leg plate. Danse looks up from where he’s holding the leg steady, eyebrows raising. “I wanted to help some of the scientists but they wouldn’t let me. They were nice, but they used to talk  _ about  _ me a lot instead of  _ to  _ me. It’s better here, at least here everyone uses my name.”

Danse has seen a lot of awful shit in the wasteland, is no stranger to the cruelty of man. But hearing Shaun talk so casually of scientists throws up all kinds of red flags that Danse has no idea how to deal with. It’s a long moment before he can even respond, half afraid that he’ll say the wrong thing and upset the kid, but his morbid curiosity wins out in the end.

“Where… did you grow up?” Danse finally asks, choosing the safest option he can think of.

“Somewhere different.” Shaun says, reaching for another bolt to screw in. “I don’t really remember it much, it’s all fuzzy. I get moments? Like flashes? But I can’t really remember a lot from before mom and Uncle Preston came to get me.”

“When was that?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe two years ago? I can’t tell time that well. There’s no clocks up here, have you noticed? All the clocks we find are either broken or wrong, so there’s no way to tell, isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah,” Danse says weakly. “You can’t remember anything?”

“Not really. I  _ have  _ memories, but I don’t think they’re mine. Uncle Sturges says that’s normal for us, that we’ve been given different memories, but I know which ones are actually mine now, it’s easier to tell now that I’m not in the lab anymore.”

Danse stares at Shaun in stunned silence, fully aware he should be responding to this differently but wholly unsure of what else to do. Something pings in his own head, about false memories and fabricated recollections, and he’s suddenly aware that there’s every chance Shaun might be a synth, that the lab he’s talking about might be the Institute, but Danse has never encountered a child synth before, didn’t even know that was a possibility.

“I… get that sometimes,” Danse finally says after a long moment. “But it might be a bit different for me. I’m… I’m a synth. So some of my memories aren’t… true.”

“Oh!” Shaun says, head snapping up. He  _ beams  _ at Danse, entire face lighting up. “That’s so cool! I’ve  _ always  _ wanted to meet a synth! I’ve met Nick, obviously, but synths like you, you can’t even  _ tell  _ and that’s cooler! Some people don’t even know they’re synths, did you know that?”

Danse keeps that weak smile on his face as Shaun chatters on about the inherent coolness of synths, which is charming at the same time it’s frankly terrifying. Danse is now fairly certain the kid is a synth and doesn’t know, but he’s sure as hell not going to say anything, not taking into account that it’s not his place and there is a chance he could be wrong. It changes nothing, either way. The kid is cute and endearing and acts just the way any kid would and Danse would be the biggest hypocrite on the planet if he treated Shaun any differently. It does, however, clear up the confusion around Shaun’s parentage. Not quite an orphan by technical definition, though he’s been adopted by the Minutemen which is sweet and telling of their whole organisation, and Danse feels a strange kinship with this boy who hasn’t been given the memories of a loving family. Though he did speak of a mother, something Danse has never had.

It does call to question how much of Danse’s memories may actually be real. If child synths are possible, is there a chance Danse did grow up in the Capital Wasteland? Were those memories actually his? But then why would the Institute release a child synth into the world? Or was he broken out by a sympathetic party and did the Railroad get to him? Surely wouldn’t someone have given him to a family instead, then? These are all questions Danse cannot answer, and will never be able to, but he knows now who he is, and which memories are for certain true, and all of the ones he has of Nora are the only ones he cares about.

“You spoke about your mom?” Danse says, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “And Uncle Preston coming to get you? Is your mom here?”

“Not right now,” Shaun says, returning his attention to the leg plate. “She travels a lot and she’s real busy so I don’t get to see her much. But she always brings me back something fun to work on so I don’t mind. When I’m older I want to travel with her, I think that would be cool. Uncle Hancock always has the best stories.”

Danse nods absently, still distracted by his own thoughts, so he’s not listening as intently as he probably should. He’s comforted, at least, that Shaun has a big enough family that he’s not lonely or wanting for affection, but Danse is curious about his adoptive parentage, because having  _ Hancock  _ as an uncle must mean his mother is relatively close with the ghoul, which narrows down the pool considerably. Danse can’t really think of many people who would voluntarily spend time around the man. 

And then the penny drops.

And Danse does not handle it well.


	5. Chapter 5

Danse is trying so hard not to fly off the fucking handle, but he doesn’t really know  _ how  _ he’s supposed to respond positively to the fact that his…  _ significant other  _ has a heretofore unmentioned  _ child  _ that she’s conveniently  _ neglected to mention  _ for the past  _ year. _ Obviously Danse doesn’t mention this to anyone, because he really wants to hear Nora’s side of the story first before he casts judgement, even if judgement has already been cast and he’s kind of fucking pissed about it.

He considers going to Preston, but that won’t really solve anything because there’s no one who can explain Nora’s behaviour other than the woman herself, and though Danse spends a good few days examining the situation from all angles, he really cannot come up with any reason why she couldn’t have said  _ something. _

The worst part, other than being unable to get any kind of clarification until Nora comes home, is that Danse cannot understand what she’s been  _ doing  _ with regards to the kid. From what Danse can see, with his albeit limited perception, she shipped the kid off to a settlement far away from her and then just ignored him, which is… horrific, quite frankly. There’s nothing that paints her in a positive light here, and Danse is upset and angry and uncomfortable about the whole thing, and he has no idea how this is going to be made right.

Whether out of a misplaced sense of duty, or just because he’s not inherently an asshole, Danse now cannot bear to let Shaun out of his sight. Shaun seems perfectly happy to keep assisting Danse in the armoury, and Danse takes great care not to let any of his internal disquiet seem into their interactions, but it’s very difficult not to grill the kid about his mother in the absence of Nora to offer any concrete insights. Still, though, Danse keeps quiet, because none of this is Shaun’s fault, and Danse is sure as hell not going to demand answers from a kid who doesn’t know any better.

Danse doesn’t have to agonise for too much longer. Nora returns a few days later, Nick in tow, and Danse is left feeling fully unprepared for the conversation they’re going to have, and left feeling even more unbalanced by the fact that he’s just… not happy to see her. The relief that she’s unharmed is there, of course it is, but wholly different from the usual flood of emotions Danse feels, is the rush of anger he feels the moment she steps into the Castle grounds. She’s smiling, laughing loudly at something Nick has said, but the moment Danse sees her, a hot curl of anger and uncertainty swirls through his chest, preventing him from going to her like he normally would.

He has no idea what to do, no idea how to act in this situation, but Shaun does. They’re standing by the crops when Nora walks in, and Shaun looks over when the usual cries of “General!” rise up from the gathered Minutemen. Before Danse can decide how he wants to approach this, Shaun hops down from the fence he’s perched on and tears off across the courtyard.

“Mom!” He cries happily, effectively shattering that last frail hope that Danse had been, somehow, wrong. Worse still is the fact that Nora jerks like she’s been hit when she hears Shaun’s cry, and the fact that when the boy throws his arms around her, she just stands there stiffly, arms half raised like she can’t decide what to do with them.

Then she looks up and meets Danse’s gaze and for the first time Danse gets to see true panic fill her eyes. Danse nods, mostly to himself, and makes his way to their quarters. If she wants to talk, she’ll know where to find him.

She does come to him, about an hour later. He’s sitting on the bed, a book propped up against his leg that he’s not reading though he’s been staring at the same page for a long while. She slips into the room almost silently, closing the door behind her, but she doesn’t cross the room and neither does Danse look up from the book he’s pretending to read.

“Danse,” she says softly, hesitantly. Danse closes the book and sets it to one side, swinging his leg round so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He still doesn’t look at her, electing to stare down at his hands, loosely clasped in his lap. “I know what you’re thinking--”

“I really,” Danse begins, cutting across her, “don’t think that you do.”

“Will you let me explain?”

“It’s crucial that you do, Nora, because right now I’m questioning everything I ever thought I knew about you.” He finally raises his head to look at her and can see that she’s upset, though he privately thinks she doesn’t have any right to be. Uncharitably he thinks it’s probably because he found out her secret before she had a chance to tell him herself, but he’s glad that he did. He doubts she ever had any intention of telling him, otherwise.

“He’s not my son,” Nora says in a rush. “Don’t-- let me explain before you judge me. You don’t  _ know,  _ Danse, you don’t know anything about this. I can imagine what you think of me but at least let me say my piece before you judge me too harshly.”

Danse gestures for her to speak, that he will keep quiet and listen. He’s inordinately thankful for every second of gruelling training he ever received for how to act under pressure, because he thinks without it, he’d already be shouting.

“The Institute--” She takes a deep, unsteady breath. “The Institute made him, I don’t know why, from what they said, it was some experiment, which is all they ever did. They made synths, I don’t know what purpose the kid was ever meant to serve, but it… When we blew the place, just as we were leaving, this kid came out of nowhere, declared me his mother and begged me to take him with us. And I couldn’t-- I couldn’t leave him in there. What kind of monster would that make me? So we took him with us and we… I… We questioned him. Not cruelly, but we wanted to know…”

She trails off, wiping her eyes roughly. “My son, my biological son, was the director of the Institute. From what we figured out, he created the boy on a whim and implanted memories into him so he’d believe he was my son. You have no-- You have no idea how it felt. I  _ killed  _ my son, Danse. He was an old, cruel man who didn’t care about any life above ground. The Institute hoarded technology jealously and wouldn’t help any of us. They were quite content to leave us all up here to rot. And after all that, to have this… This child claiming to be my son? I couldn’t… I had no idea how to  _ deal with that!” _

Danse sucks in a breath and Nora is crying openly down, staring down at her hands like they don’t belong to her. “The Institute took everything from me and my family and they couldn’t even afford me the courtesy of letting me mourn for what I lost. I had a child forced into my care and I had no idea how to deal with that. Yes, I acted badly, but what would  _ you  _ have done? I sent him to a safe settlement, I made sure he was safe and cared for, but I never wanted… I didn’t  _ ask  _ for… I didn’t know what to  _ do!” _

Nora leans back against the door, sliding down until she’s sitting on the floor with her knees up. She wraps her arms around her legs, sobbing into her knees so hard her shoulders shake. “I never learned how to be a proper mother,” she weeps, voice muffled by her knees. “My baby was stolen from me and I went through hell to get him back, but he was already grown when I found him. And I know I should’ve seen the kid as an opportunity, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t make it happen. I couldn’t feel anything. And he calls me mom and I can’t handle it, so I did the best thing I could which was make him safe and try to get on with my life. Let everyone judge me, I did the best that I fucking could.”

Slowly, Danse lifts his crutch up from the floor beside the bed. He stands and carefully makes his way across the room. Leaning heavily on the crutch for support, he lowers himself down, back braced against the door, until he’s sitting beside Nora and can wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her against his side.

“I’m sorry,” Danse says quietly. “I can’t understand, because I haven’t lost what you have. I judged before I knew and that wasn’t fair and I’m sorry for that. The cruelty of the Institute has no limits, it seems, but… It’s not the kid’s fault. He doesn’t know any better, he’s not trying to hurt you. But whatever you decide, I’ll back you. I’m so sorry, Nora.”

It’s the best explanation he could have given, but Danse feels immeasurably guilty for how harshly he judged her before he understood. He can’t imagine the kind of pain Nora must have felt, can’t imagine how deep the grief of losing everything must run. But it isn’t the kid’s fault, and that’s all he can really say. If Nora doesn’t want to be his mother, that’s her decision, and though the Institute has hurt the both of them with their ineffable actions, she’s been left with the responsibility of mitigating the fallout for two.

“Have you spoken to him?” Nora asks quietly, resting her head on Danse’s shoulder. He cards his fingers slowly through her hair.

“Yeah. He’s been helping around the armoury. He’s a bright kid.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Nora admits. “I had no idea what to do when I found out I was pregnant, I have even less idea what to do in this situation.”

“We can figure it out,” Danse assures her. “Like I said, I’ll back you. Now that I know… Where you ever going to tell me?”

“No,” Nora says and her honesty shocks him for a moment. “I didn’t know how. I held out hope that I’d never have to. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, it felt like… I don’t know. I can’t even explain it. I acted for so long without thinking, I just kept running away from the problem hoping if I kept moving it would never catch up with me.”

Weirdly, this Danse understands. And now knowing what he does, he cannot fault her. Yes, her behaviour was… questionable, but how can Danse judge her for something he has no idea how he would have dealt with in her position? She’s only human, she makes mistakes, and though this could be taken as a rather egregious one, he cannot fault her for trying to hide the pain.

“My only advice would be to talk to him,” Danse says. “Because you’re right, I have no idea what I would have done in your position. But at least to him, you  _ are  _ his mother. And he deserves kindness, after such awful beginnings.”

“I’m… glad you know,” Nora murmurs softly. “Thank you for… being so wonderful about this. I don’t think I’ve ever been as afraid as I was when I saw you earlier. I genuinely thought… Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

“I just wanted to understand,” Danse says, kissing the top of her head. “That’s all. But I do have to ask, why did you bring him here, if you didn’t want me to know?”

“I didn’t,” Nora says flatly. “Shaw kept threatening to. Kept saying I needed to “face my problems head on”. I didn’t realise she was going to disobey me and actually do it. We’ll be having words about that.”

Danse winces in sympathy. “Maybe have it out somewhere else? I don’t reckon the Castle could withstand that…”

“Noted,” Nora says, laughing weakly. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I’m happy you’re home.”


End file.
